


Honor Roll

by Anonymous



Series: Anon Universe’s Guide To Coping [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Absent Parents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Author Projecting onto TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Child Neglect, Daddy Issues, Hurt No Comfort, Inspired by Music, It’s just hair tugging and scratching, Mommy Issues, Projecting, Songfic, Very Mild Mention Of Self-Harm, im sorry, no beta we die like the bond I have with my parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Therapy is all fun and good but it would require willing guardians and talking. He’d rather have anxiety attacks in an empty house and blaring music.
Series: Anon Universe’s Guide To Coping [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154600
Comments: 1
Kudos: 82
Collections: Anonymous





	Honor Roll

**Author's Note:**

> I usually avoid projecting on real people but holy shit this is like my only good coping mechanism and I’m about to explode
> 
> here’s the link to the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ghYWTFxUlMD8hnnGIRoDG?si=9G8xL1z2R6uHU_KU3p6J5A)

His On Repeat playlist fills the air of the quiet house when Tommy steps in, ripping off his earphones the second the door shuts behind him. No one was home, his parents left for the next city over to get god knows what, they said they’d be back tomorrow.

Tommy scowls, kicking the shoes off his feet he starts making his way upstairs to his room. His socked feet hardly make any sound over the playlist playing.

_“Because you were the first one to show me the stars, and they don’t mean much to me, but I still wonder where you are”_

All but throwing his school bag against his desk, he let his phone drop on his bed and then quickly followed. Tommy opened the Spotify app, scrolling through his playlists and stopping on his top songs of last year.

Your Top Songs 2020:

  1. Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths
  2. Honor Roll by Bülow
  3. Be Nice to Me by The Front Bottoms
  4. Icarus by Bastille



He puts it on shuffle and locks his phone, letting it drop beside him once more. He brings his arm up to cover his eyes from the sunlight that seeps into his room, trying to ignore the rolling anxiety in his gut.

Soon he’d have to get up and study, the list of homework and exams ever growing, but he’s tired.

_“Ask me if I’m happy, I don’t know.”_

He can’t get his body to move, he’s exhausted and the thought of studying makes the lead on his body grow heavier. Tommy knows he’d have to eventually, he dreads it.

_“I know that you got daddy issues.”_

_“It's no big surprise you turned out this way.”_

Groaning, he gathered enough energy to sluggishly move out of bed and towards his desk. He had to do this, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his grades dropped. What would his purpose be then?

His brain felt like static, opening his bag, getting his supplies and work out was all lost to the haze. Tommy stared at his English assignment that sat in front of him now, he doesn’t really remember pulling it out of the pile, he remembered opening his pencil case, though.

_“There are red spots under your eyes, from when you cry, into the sky.”_

Fuck, he had to finish his work. Slightly shaking his head he starts writing, the words were lost to him the second he puts them on the paper but that’s okay, he can review them before class. He ignores how his hand shakes.

_“I’m leaving. I'm not good for anyone here.”_

Squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, he took a deep breath and dropped his pencil in favour of rubbing his face. He’s fine, just tired probably. Yeah, just tired.

He’s breathing, he can feel his chest expanding and contracting but it doesn’t feel like any air is passing through. The uncomfortable feeling in his gut grows, fuck he doesn’t have time for this. He tugs at his hair harshly, trying to distract himself from the growing anxiety.

Tommy tugs even harder when his breath catches a bit. He squeezed his eyes shut, fuck fuck _fuck_ , he doesn’t have time for this. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for 4, he's fine.

_“My brain is tired, my stomach's sick.”_

It took much longer to calm down than it would usually take him, by the time he did his head hurt and his eyes were filled with tears. He presses his open palms onto his eyes until he sees stars, then a quick glance at the clock on his desk has him trying to catch up on work.

Half way through his pre-calculus work, tears started dripping down his cheeks. Tommy didn’t know why he was crying, but here he was in an empty house vigorously wiping away the tears that didn't stop falling.

_“I can hear it in your voice while your speaking you can't be treated”_

A quiet sob leaves his lips and he freezes, his brain half between his almost-anxiety attack and the screaming of ‘don’t let them hear you’. Tommy slowly slips to the ground and squeezes himself into the small space under his desk, it makes him feel safe despite how much he pressed against himself.

Logically he knew he was fine, no one was home, and they wouldn't be for a while but his brain was too much in a panicked haze to work rationally. His hands that gripped both his exposed upper arms started to dig into his skin, his breathing was slowly getting more laboured.

_“Just a spoiled little kid who went to Catholic school”_

He wants to get up, he has shit to do and time isn’t going to stop just because he wanted to be a little baby. And that fucking playlist hadn’t stopped yet.

He’s glad his parents aren’t here. The house was new and he didn’t know how thick the walls were, he’d hate to force them to come into his room and ‘comfort’ him. He’s glad to sort this out himself.

His nails that dug into his skin were now quickly riding up and down his arms, the sensation grounding him in a way. Tommy knew they'd be red but that’s for another time.

Trying to distract himself from the panic, he lets his mind wander, trying to steer clear from the topic of his parents and his grades, but ultimately falling victim to the white bear.

_“We won or we think we did. When you went away you were just a kid”_

His parents would be disappointed, they wouldn’t care about the fact that he tries his best. He had to earn their love doesn’t he? He doesn’t deserve hugs or ‘I’m proud of you’s if he’s not at the top. He’s wasting his time.

Tommy shouldn’t care about what they think of him, his mom screams too much and his dad is freezing to the touch. He’s too afraid to make mistakes lest they notice, they would, they always do.

_“What's wrong with you? Tell me all your problems, let it out”_

Do they even love him? He can’t recall the last time they told him that. He frowns, he’s no longer hyperventilating, but he doesn’t feel real. Logically he knows he is, but he’s not.

He wishes he could tell them about everything eating at him, it’s a lot. Would they even care? His brain was silent, the house was silent, that was enough of an answer for him.


End file.
